


Another Day, Another Hunt

by Bellaz0id



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester/reader friendship, F/M, FWP, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Hunting, Love, Reader-Insert, Romance, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2753954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellaz0id/pseuds/Bellaz0id
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunting, fluffy Impala time, fluff while patching each other up. Fluffy, adorable Sam. Bad-ass Reader. (Worst summary ever but you're probably reading for the characters and dialogue, not the plot right?? 'cause this one shot has no plot)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Day, Another Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Not much of a plot with this one. Just sort of your average night with the Winchesters, I suppose. The last scene is a reference to one of my favorite movies/scenes of all time and it makes me very happy :)

“Looks like we're in for nasty weather,” you heard Sam say in the distance. He tried to play it off as a cool quip but it came off more like a bad, CSI, put-on-sunglasses-for-dramatic-effect moment. The demons would hopefully not know the difference. You were waiting by the doorway of the old barn. Your back was pressed against the outside to minimize your visibility. A tussle had broken out a few moments before and apparently the brothers had not come out on top. There was an unfamiliar chuckle in response to Sam's banter. Lyrics from “Bad Moon Rising” were code for “Okay, but captured” so you knew you didn't have to rush in, guns blazing. You had a minute to get in there and figure something out.

You ducked your head through the opening. The barn was divided by at least one wall to the left. There were lot's of old crates and farming equipment piled high above your head and just over the top of them you could see light shining from a wide entrance to another room. It was dark except for the yellow doorway light and moonlight that was pouring in from the door you were standing in, a few old windows and the occasional crack in the walls. 

It sounded like the fight came from about ten to fifteen feet away, around the corner of the tower of crates. You turned the corner of the doorway and pressed your back to the other side of the wall you'd just been leaning against. The tower reached nearly to the ceiling and kept you from seeing anything on the other side or to the doorway. You quickly reviewed the weapons stashed on you. Pocket-knife; back right pocket. Hunting knife; inside right boot. Gun; left hip. Another knife; inside, right jacket pocket. None of these were going to help you much against the demons. 

You could hear Sam and Dean wrestling against their captors as they were strong armed into the other room. You hoped one of them would break free because you against four demons was going to be... hairy. You edged your way along the crates, careful to remain silent and keeping your movements small to remain undetected.

You reached the corner where there was a wide walkway to allow entrance to the other side of the barn. There was more old junk piled on the other side of the walkway, though not quite as much as the pile you'd just passed. There was a body crumpled just at the edge of where the light reached, about half-way to you. Your breath caught and your heart froze for a second before your brain could rationalize that it was not one of the Winchesters. Dean had been meant to say the code too so that you knew they'd both been captured. Maybe Sam had been too shocked to alert you... This was all conjecture and most of your brain knew it wasn't Dean laying there but it was hard to bury those fears with only reason. You checked the door way for signs of movement but there was none and it sounded like they'd all moved to the other side of the room, away from the entrance. You inched your way along the side of the crates, just to where the light began. You could clearly see the face of the body. You closed your eyes, took a deep breath and sighed silently. “ _It's Not Dean_ ,” you thought. 

A shimmering, reflection of light just a few inches from the body's feet caught your eye. You moved your head until the reflection stopped and you could make out the familiar blade and handle laying there. The demon knife. You took a moment to cheer silently before crouching into the light and taking several quiet steps to reach it. You picked it up from the dirt floor and shook it clean as you hurried out of the light to the wall ahead. 

You gripped the handle tightly in your fist, your back flush against the wall. You steadied your breath as you contemplated the best plan of attack. You peaked ever so slightly around the corner and then eased yourself back against the wall. Sam and Dean were tied up in chairs, back to back. They were struggling against the rope, but the knots were apparently strong. These demons worked fast. 

“Winchesters.... won't you two just die already? You're really starting to get under my skin,” you heard the leader taunt as he slowly paced in front of the chairs where Sam and Dean were tied.

Dean let out a small laugh before replying. “Well you see, we've tried. But neither of us found hell to be all that comfortable a place to spend eternity.” 

“And with you sons of bitches up here, someone's gotta be there to kill you. And if not us then who?” Sam asked. You could almost picture the sneer on his face. 

You might not have had total confidence in your ability to take out three demons but with a quip like that, you knew Sam did. 

You readjusted your fingers around the handle of the demon knife and stormed around the corner into the room, kicking up the dirt floor with your quick feet. The two henchmen quickly dove toward you. The first one to reach you was a large, heavyset man. You clocked him fully on the jaw with your right fist and knifed him in the gut while he was distracted. You saw the demon inside flash and sizzle as it died. The man's body crumpled to the ground, just as the other one got to you. She was lighter on her feet and fought more smoothly. Moving quickly, you shifted the knife from your left to your right hand while ducking and dodging her punches. Unable to find a safe in, you rolled away. You slowly circled each other, waiting for the other to slip up so you could get the upper hand. The leader just stood aside, apparently confident in his guard's ability to take you down. 

“I sure like having you here, Sammy, but I think I'd do alright at this whole-” You dove for the demon while she was slightly distracted by your conversation. You went straight for her nose with the hardest punch you could muster. She fell flat on the ground, but became a scrappy fighter once you had her pinned down with your knees. She scratched and clawed at every part of you within reach. “Demon-killing business,” you finished, as you buried the knife deep in her heart. 

Sam chuckled. “That's my girl. Picked up on my cue, did ya?” 

You rolled off her and tossed Dean a pocketknife from your back pocket. He easily caught it and got to work on his ropes but it didn't matter. Upon seeing that his group was easily taken down and that he was now outnumbered, the demon shot out of the body he'd been possessing. The man fell to the ground, blood dripped on to his lips and chin. Dean finished with his ropes and pulled a sharper knife out of his boot to work on Sam's. You made your way over to the dying man. 

“I'm so... sorry...” he coughed out. 

“Shhh...” you whispered to him as you cradled his head. “It's over now. I'm sorry we couldn't save you.” His eyes grew slightly bigger. Apparently he'd still had hope that you could help him. It was like an ice pick to your heart. “This wasn't your fault, and you couldn't help it. It's going to be okay.” You stroked his head gently. His eyelids fluttered and then closed. His body fell limp and you felt the tears welling up in your eyes. You looked up at Sam and Dean, and you couldn't help it. Seeing them there, looking at you like they were sorry it always had to end like this, the tears spilled over. Sam knelt down next to you. 

“Every time, huh?” he asked as he rubbed your shoulder. 

“I know, you guys think I'm pathetic. I can't help it! Dead monsters as far as the eye can see and I'll smile. But he was a person, with a family. So were they,” you motioned to the other two bodies, “I know I had to kill them but I still hate it so much.” 

Dean bent over and gently picked up the lifeless body, relieving you of the weight. You stood up and so did Sam. He pulled you into a hug and held your head to his chest. 

“I don't think you're pathetic. It's sweet. You care so much.” He kissed the top your head and rubbed his hand up and down your back. You turned your face into his chest and kissed it so gently, you weren't even sure he could feel it through the fabric. You tilted your face up to him, resting your chin on his chest and puckered your lips up at him. He looked down at you and laughed, then looked into your eyes with so much love and understanding that your heart did a little flip. He slowly lowered his head and connected his lips with yours. It was a quick, innocent kiss. He then placed the same innocent kiss to your nose... and then your forehead... and both cheeks... Your face flushed and you could feel heat rush to the places where he'd kissed you. You grinned, momentarily lost in so much bliss that you couldn't help but smile. But then you remembered Dean and the bodies, and you pulled away. 

“We better go help Dean before he starts giving us shit.” 

Sam smiled at you for a second before his forehead wrinkled with concern and his eyes softened. “Aw, she scratched your chin up.” He gently held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, examining it. “And your cheek.” He rubbed his thumb just below the cut across your right cheek. The pressure of his thumb near the cut caused you to wince. 

“Sorry,” he said with an apologetic smile. He leaned down and placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, just above the cut. “Better?” 

You smiled up at him and gave him a small nod. 

“I'm gonna help Dean. You wanna look around for clues?” you asked. 

“Sure,” he said as he released you from his embrace and went to pick up the demon knife you had dropped on the ground. 

Dean had pulled all but one of the bodies outside to burn but the heaviest one required help. He handed you the pocketknife you'd tossed him earlier.

“Thanks for saving our asses back there, Y/N.” 

“Oh, all in a day's work, Dean,” you said with a smirk. He pulled you in for a quick hug. 

“Help me with this last body?” 

“'Course.” 

You both walked over to the corpse. Dean was at the head and you by the feet. 

“Don't forget to bend at the knees, old man,” you teased. 

“Hey! I will punch you. I know you can take it. Don't think I'll hold back just 'cause you're a girl, 'cause I won't!” Dean said, shaking his head emphatically. You laughed, knowing full well that nothing could be further from the truth. You both bent down to pick up the body. Dean lifted him under his arms and you held his calves. You carefully aimed your way through the first door, then the second and dropped the body with the others. You both dusted off your hands and Dean wiped his brow. 

“You know, most brotherly-type friends help with moving furniture, not bodies,” you said as he passed you a bottle of kerosene. You both laughed hard, Dean a little louder than you.

“Oh, sweetheart, we passed normal relationship standards a looong time ago,” he said, flicking a lit match on to the pile. It was quickly engulfed in flames. 

Sam slowly ambled out of the doorway and handed the clean demon knife to Dean. 

“Well, I scoped out the place. There wasn't much. I don't think they'd been here very long. Still no clue what brought them all the way out here or why they tied us up instead of just killing us. Not that I'm complaining.”

“Hey man, who knows why demons do anything. Some of them just wanna watch the world burn,” Dean said as he stared into the flames. The fire reflected eerily in his eyes. The three of you stood there in silence, warmed by the flames. 

“Well, I'm beat,” you said, interrupting the quiet. “We gotta stay here until the bodies are done or we just gonna leave it to nature?” you asked as you curled up to Sam for extra warmth. 

“Nah, let's go. It's wet enough around here that it won't spread and it's supposed to storm later so I'm not worried about watching the fire.” 

“Seems kinda irresponsible,” Sam said. “What if it rains before they finish burning?” 

You pouted at him and wrapped your arms around his waist. The hunt had taken the entire day and then some. The bunker was only an hours drive away. Your eyelids were heavy and you were beginning to daydream about your pillow.

“Oh fine,” Sam conceded. Dean and you laughed in unison. Sam would break on almost anything for you and it amused Dean to no end.

The three of you piled into the Impala, Sam taking to the backseat with you. It used to bother Dean that he was now usually alone in front, but as you and Sam had become more serious, it seemed to bother him less and less. At least he had stopped absentmindedly looking to the passenger seat. 

Dean turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled loudly to life. It was hard for you to think of a sound you found sweeter in the whole world than that of the roaring Impala. 

Sam took off his jacket and laid across the backseat as best he could. His legs curled into the fetal position and his head rested in your lap. You brushed your fingers through his long hair as Dean drove down the old dirt road that led away from the long abandoned farm, leaving a trail of dust clouds behind you. You looked down at Sam as you played with his hair. He was facing the back of the passengers seat but you could tell his eyes were shut and he was smiling. Dean turned on to a paved road. Up ahead you could see the lights of a small neighborhood. You looked back down at Sam and wondered what he was thinking about. If you knew Sam it was a multitude of things: You, the hunt, the demons, an old hunt that still bothered him, his brother, Metatron, Cas, Charlie... Amelia (not with regret but guilt). A day where the world wasn't on his shoulders was a good day. You felt your heart swell and eyes grow misty as you thought about the never ending flood that was his life. 

You fought back the tears by focusing on how happy you and Sam were right now. You focused on his face... his dimples... his arms which were currently pulled across his chest. You took your left arm and slipped it over Sam's hip. You splayed your fingers and let them glide down, toward his belly button before turning your hand and pushing it slowly up his stomach, toward his chest, under his crossed wrists until you found the area of his heart. You gripped at the skin through his t-shirt and saw his grin widen by the light of a passing car's headlights. He twisted his left arm so that his fingers found yours. They slipped gently over and between yours as he playfully caressed your hand for several moments before lacing your fingers with his and pulling your hand to his chest like a kid hugging their most cherished stuffed animal. You stayed like this, quiet and enchanted for several minutes.

“So did you guys get any good scrapes?” you asked, tiring of the silence.

Dean huffed. “The big dude clocked me pretty good. And he punched my stomach so hard I almost puked. And the other guy cut up my forehead when he was wrestling me down.”

There was sleepiness mixed with contented bliss in Sam's voice when he slowly answered, “Mmm, yeah... I think my shoulder got it good.... Might need a couple stitches. Couple good punches. Definitely something happened to my knee.” 

You shook your head. “They took you both down, and you barely have anything to show for it. And you call yourselves hunters...” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Hey... possible stitches... twisted knee...” Sam whimpered. 

“Oh, you're right. My poor Sammy,” you cooed. You gently caressed a light finger from the top of Sam's scalp, down the side of his face and to the tip of his chin. You felt him shiver from the light touch and he adjusted himself so that his back was flat and he was looking up at you. You held his face in your hand and leaned down and planted gentle kisses on his jaw and cheeks before lingering on his lips. 

“I love you...” he whispered as you pulled slowly away. 

“Oh Gross. Come on,” Dean whined from the front seat. You could see in the rear-view mirror that his face was scrunched up in disgust. “Seriously, you two are disgusting.” Sam chuckled and winked at you. “I've told you guys a thousand times. The Impala is not your personal love nest! It's a place for tunes,” he pushed a cassette into the player and the speakers crackled to life, “And working on cases. And eating burgers! Do not ruin her with your gross love bliss!” Dean turned the knob slightly so he didn't have to shout over his music. You knew Dean's annoyance was just for show. He had told you on a handful of occasions how happy it made him seeing Sam so happy with you.

“Come on, Dean. We all know what you did with Anna back here. And who knows how many other girls,” Sam argued. He sat up and leaned back against the door, laying his legs across your lap. “What was that lady's name in New York? Samantha? And you made me wait at the table in that disgusting bar until you were done. And we know that was far from the only time that happened.” 

“Mmm,” Dean hummed, smiling at the memory, but quickly remembering the argument at hand. “That's different!” he said pointing up, emphasizing his point. “That... that was raw lust my friends. No love nesting to speak of,” he said with a satisfied smirk while shaking his finger in the air.

“Jesus, why are we sitting back here?” You cringed and lifted your arms off the seat. You hesitated a moment before deciding Sam was a good place to keep your arms. You rested your forearms across his thighs. 

“Oh, they didn't all happen in the back seat,” Dean explained happily, “Sometimes I'd sit in the front and she'd-” 

“Dean!” you and Sam shouted in unison. Dean snickered loudly. 

“Seriously, we're probably getting the clap just from sitting back here,” Sam joked. 

“You have no idea,” Dean laughed to himself. “This place is filthy. If I had a black light... this place would look like a Jackson Pollock painting.” You and Sam burst out laughing, joining Dean as he continued to laugh at his own joke.

“Alright, calm down there Star-Lord. We all know you would never let your baby get that dirty. Or at least not stay that dirty.” 

“Damn straight!” Dean agreed. “And that man thinks he deserves a space ship.... If you have a space ship, you respect it, you clean it!” Dean rubbed his hand on the dash and gave the car a light pat.

“Alright now who's being gross?” Sam asked, looking squeamish. 

“Don't listen to 'em baby,” Dean whispered as he pulled into the bunker's garage. The sight of home base and the knowledge that your bed was so close made you realize how heavy your limbs were and how tired your brain was. 

“Ahh,” you sighed. “Home sweet home.” Sam opened the car door, climbed out, and held the door open for you as you did the same. The three of you gathered your bags out of the car and made your way into the bunker. You leaned against Sam as you walked toward your rooms.

“Oh, we gotta stitch you up, babe,” you said, jostling yourself from your stupor. “Dean, you all good or do you need me to bandage you up too?” 

He was lumbering to his bedroom door and you saw him give his head a slow shake. You had all been out since dawn on that hunt. “Nah, I'm good. Night, guys.” 

“Night, Dean,” you both answered. 

“Babe, I think I'm good. We don't need to worry about it tonight,” Sam said, his eyes half shut with drowsiness. 

You sluggishly waved a finger at him. “No, no. Don't think I didn't notice all those times you tensed up when you had to move your shoulder or I brushed against it.”

“You're like 80% asleep right now! You're not going near me with a needle,” Sam argued as he guided you through the door to your room. Hunting together and living together, it could get a little 'close quarters' at times so you'd both decided to keep separate rooms. You always ended up in the same bed, though, yours or his, it didn't matter. 

“You're right,” you said sitting on the edge of your bed. “But I have to at least clean it and dress it so it doesn't get infected.” 

“I think I can concede to that.” 

“All right, to the operating room,” you said pointing your finger and thrusting it up into the air.

“Yes, Doc,” Sam said as he turned and exited to the hallway. 

“I'm more like a nurse, really. Doctors don't really do any actual work. Except surgeons, I suppose.”

“If Dean were here he'd make some joke about sexy nurses.” 

“Your brother needs help,” you said, shaking your head. 

“Or a serious, long-term girlfriend,” Sam said as he entered the bathroom. He lowered the toilet lid and took a seat on top of it. These were among those rare moments when he was actually nearly eye level with you.

“Or all of the above,” you said. Sam chuckled, and you surveyed the medicine cabinet for your required supplies. You piled the items on the counter next to him. Sam was now slowly peeling his shirt off where the sticky, drying blood had adhered the fabric to raw skin. His head was turned, his eyes glued to his injury. He was wincing from the sharp pain. You leaned over and softly kissed his cheek. 

“You do realize,” Sam said, smiling but not removing his eyes from the cut on his left shoulder, “that this isn't even close to the most pain I've ever been in. It's not even a drop in the bucket. It's more like a water particle in the bucket.” 

You could feel the water works begin to turn somewhere behind your eyes at the thought of the awful things Sam had been through, but you quickly shut them down before they could reach the rims of your eyes. You frowned ever so slightly. 

“I do know,” you said softly as you held his face in your right hand and kissed his cheek again. He dropped the shirt to the floor and turned his face to you. You kissed him fully on the lips, still cradling his face. You brushed your thumb gently on his cheek. His perfect, soft lips moved gently and slowly with yours. His left arm hung limp from the pain in his shoulder, but he gripped your upper arm tightly with his right. He carefully pulled your bottom lip between his and sucked it slightly, causing your breath to hitch. You pulled your lips away from his for a second before puckering up and planting one last, hard kiss to the corner of his mouth, like a period on the end of a sentence. You couldn't quite comprehend how a kiss could be laced with so much sadness and love, but there it was, lingering on your lips, still tingly and warm where his had touched yours. He was still holding onto you, and though you could feel his breath on your face, you didn't want to open your eyes yet and ruin the moment. 

His hand traveled down your arm and laced with your fingers. He gently pressed his forehead to yours and whispered, “Some days I feel like I could be saying 'I love you' too much, like it's gonna lose meaning if I just keep saying it to you, but in my heart I know that if I said it every second of every day for however long I have left on this earth, it still wouldn't be enough to represent how much I love you... God, how corny is that?” 

You opened your eyes and the bright bathroom light burned them. You pulled away slightly, so that you could see his whole face. His dimples framed his smile.

“Not corny,” you said, feeling your eyes crinkle from your smile. “Eh, maybe a little corny.” You glanced up toward the ceiling as if you were contemplating this thought. Sam laughed softly, and you turned your eyes back toward his. He was still smiling with his big, wide, perfect grin but there was a hint of expectancy in his eyes. “I love you, too. You know that right? Just as much.” He had begun slowly swinging your laced hands back and forth. “I don't say it as much but you know it, right?” Your brow wrinkled and a look of concern filled your eyes. 

“Of course I do,” Sam said, his face twisted with concern. He rubbed your left arm with his good hand. “Of course I do. I feel it every time you touch me,” he picked up your hand and held it to his heart, reminding you of earlier in the car. “Even if it's just a graze,” his face was earnestly reassuring. “And every time you look at me, you see me, you understand me, like no one else does. And you've stuck around through so much... That's love. I know you do.” He draped his arm across your shoulder and broke out into a dopey, tired grin.

“Good,” you said, beaming, “Hey, remember how we came in here to fix your shoulder?” Sam chuckled.

You took several squares of gauze and doused them with alcohol. Gently, you pressed them against the cut. You thought back to the first time you'd helped stitch up the brothers. You'd been so concerned with the pain they were feeling and felt bad for them when the alcohol stung their wounds. It felt a bit silly now, knowing at that point they'd done it thousands of times for themselves. It was probably one of the most consistent things in their lives. With one hand you gripped Sam's waist, partially to steady yourself, partially just because you could. With your other hand you carefully spread the cut open to look for any noticeable debris. The cut was pretty clean but there were so many different muscles and tendons in that part of the body that you felt a little out of your depth. 

“You can move your arm and fingers and everything, right? It just hurts because of the cut?” you asked Sam. He demonstrated for you by wiggling his fingers, rolling his wrist, his elbow, and then, slowly, his shoulder.

“Yeah, the movement all feels fine,” he answered. 

“Okay, I'm gonna put some butterfly closures on it for now and then wrap it, and depending on how it looks when I can think a little more straight, we'll stitch it.” Sam nodded in agreement.

“You're the boss,” he said with a half-smile. You grabbed a tube of bacitracin ointment from the counter and painted it on with a cotton swab. It only took a few butterfly closures to pull the cut tightly closed. To keep it all nice and tidy, you put a couple squares of gauze over it all and taped down the edges with first-aid tape. 

“Done!” you cheered as a smile worked its way on to your tired face. You were able to keep the sleepiness at bay but now that the work was done, so was your brain and body. 

“Thanks, hon,” Sam said as he stood. “Now, your turn.”

“Me? But nothing's wrong with me,” you said, your brow wrinkled with confusion.

“Nope. You're perfect,” Sam said, nodding his head sarcastically. “I gotta clean your cuts.” 

You hung your head, “I'm just so tired.” 

“It'll take five seconds,” Sam admonished. He slipped to the other side of you before you could fight him. You were never getting out that door now. Sam took all the medical supplies you laid out on the counter and swept it all into the sink with his arm, clearing a spot for you. You put your back to the counter and pushed yourself on top of it. 

Your shoulders slumped and you rested your chin on your fist. “They're not even that bad, Sam.”

“Famous last words,” Sam said as he wet the gauze with the bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Oh, you're trying to tell me you and Dean would actually have cleaned up cuts like these back before I started hunting with you?” you asked as Sam slowly pulled your hand out from under your chin. 

Sam let out a small laugh. “Well, no, probably not,” he said as he held his hand around your wrist. “But you're the one that's always saying 'safety first',” he said as he dabbed gently and carefully at the cut on your chin. It burned deep down in a way that made you want to whine or groan or hiss but you buried those urges. You might not have had the lifetime of training for hunting and it's faults, like Sam and Dean did, but you were doing your damnedest to catch up.

“Well, you shouldn't listen to me. I'm stupid. What do I know about safety?” you whined. Sam smiled at you. 

When he set to work on your cheek it burned so badly that you had to grip at the counters edge to keep from crying out. You neck and jaw clenched and you knew there was no way Sam didn't notice.

“You can grab on to me, you know, if you need to... if it'll help,” he said quietly, focusing on your cuts. 

“I'm fine,” you said while giving him your most reassuring smile. You were sure he hadn't bought it but he didn't mention it again.

He took several more minutes to finish up on your cuts. You sat quietly as he concentrated on placing the band-aids and ointments. Occasionally you shared a polite smile. You felt so silly. Only two of the scratches had been more than superficial and even they were barely worth fussing over. But you'd learned to pick and choose your fights over Sam's over-protectiveness. And this was not a battle worth fighting.

His arms dropped to his side and he swept the trash from the counter and into a small trash can. 

“Thank you,” you said. You slipped an arm around his neck and pulled him to you so you could plant a grateful kiss to the side of his mouth. His beard hair was starting to grow in and it prickled your lips and skin. You breathed in, letting the unforgettable scent of him overwhelm your thoughts. He pulled back and you slipped gracefully from your perch on the counter. 

His eyes drooped with tiredness. You both slowly ambled out of the doorway and Sam flicked the light switch as he passed it. “Yours or mine?” Sam asked as the two of you shuffled down the hallway. 

“Hmm,” you said. “Mine?” 

“Bed's a bed.”

You nodded slowly in agreement. 

A few minutes later you had both put on your pajamas and were tucked into bed. Sam liked to read a chapter of a book every night before bed, although he usually ended up falling asleep within minutes. Your face was nuzzled against his chest. His arms encircled you as he read his book, which he held just beyond your head. You noticed the bandaged area on his shoulder and pushed yourself up to apply a gentle kiss to it. Sam groaned. Apparently you hadn't been as gentle as you meant to be. 

“Sorry,” you whispered. 

Your feet were cold, so you decided to tangle them with Sam's for warmth, but as you did so, you somehow ended up whacking your knee against his injured one. 

“Y/N...” he groaned.

“Well dammit, Sam Winchester! Where doesn't it hurt?!” you said as you sat up. 

He set the book down on the nightstand and sarcastically held up his elbow and pointed to it. “Here!” he said derisively. You flashed a coy smirk at Sam and leaned over to plant a kiss to his uninjured elbow. You pulled away with a soft smacking sound. Sam's eyes widened slightly with surprise before feigning annoyance. “Here,” he said pointing to a spot on his forehead. He leaned back against the pillows. You tucked your knees underneath you and scooted up next to him. You pushed his hair out of his face and gently pressed a kiss to the spot he'd pointed to. You leaned back to see his face softening. “Here,” he said, almost whispering. He pointed to his eyelid. You smiled at him and leaned down to press the gentlest of kisses to his eyelid. You pulled back, still smiling. He was staring at you, his face expressionless. “Here,” he whispered, pointing to his mouth. He refused to break eye contact with you. 

You tilted your head and leaned over and planted a kiss on his lips. He immediately pushed back against yours. You sucked in his bottom lip and gave it a soft nip. Sam moaned against your mouth. You released his lip and tilted your head to the other side. You gently parted your lips and Sam's tongue took advantage of the space, deepening the kiss. He reached behind you with his right hand and placed it firmly at the back of your head, holding you close. Your entire face burned with excitement. He held you there for several minutes, occasionally moving his hand to the side of your face to stroke it with his thumb. The kiss was earnest and deep and it set your whole body on fire.

“Sam,” you moaned against his lips. He moved his hand down to your back and you lifted your head up, pulling away from the kiss. He smiled sleepily at you. 

“I love you,” he whispered. You laid down next to him, pressing your whole body tightly against his. 

“I love you,” you whispered. He wrapped his arms around you, and you hitched your top leg over him. You nuzzled your face to his neck and began softly kissing at his jaw and neck. “Sam,” you whispered. Suddenly, you realized his arms were slightly looser around you than they had been a moment earlier. Then you heard Sam's soft snores begin. You sighed and let out a small laugh as you shook your head. You leaned up and planted one last kiss on his cheek. You pulled yourself up, leaned over Sam, and turned off the table lamp.

“First thing when you wake up, we are finishing that conversation,” you whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you catch that Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark reference?! One of my favorite movie/scenes/characters ever. Couldn't resist putting Sam in Indy's spot :) 
> 
> Please leave a comment letting me know what you thought! 
> 
> :)


End file.
